Good girls go to Heaven....
Redheads go wherever they damn well please!

Saturday, December 26, 2009

TIS THE SEASON

All year I cement over the cracks in my heart where it breaks. It's never whole, there's always another broken piece that needs putting back. I almost make it but along comes Christmas, the great solvent, and it disintegrates with such swiftness that the flow of sorrow overwhelms the mind. I weep and mend by leaving Christmas outside the door but this year the door wouldn't stay closed and not one person mentioned his name. Time does not heal all wounds.

13 comments:

Dear Coppy - time certainly does not heal any Mother's wounds.The next time some idot therapist suggests "put it behind you and move on" I am going to punch them.They are people with absolutely no idea what true love is and I have no pity for them.Drinking, shopping, fluvoxetine and chocolate, can only salve away about half the pain.The WorldWideWeb is pretty useful for distraction the rest of the time.peace and love from Us

Annie O, I know it is the same with you, you never put it behind you, you just tuck it in a corner where it's safe.I thought of you last night because I was dreaming I had to get you on a train. You kept wandering off, leaving me with the bags and the tickets on the wrong platform. In the end you insisted that we only had to jump on the tracks and walk to the other side.I think that qualifies as an obstacle dream and I'm never getting on a train with you.

River, I've done enough crying to qualify for the Australian team, now stop, you'll sog up the mince pies.

Muriels, if anything cheers me up, it's your gorgeous Miss Charlotte.

HB, the least you can do is have a monumental Christmas hangover and blog about it, someone's else's throbbing head and heaving stomach also cheers me up.

Andrew, I think I missed him more this year than any other but it's probably because I wasn't allowed to lock the door and pretend Christmas hadn't arrived. It's stay away from Christmas carols and on no account watch that damn "Little Drummer Boy". I have to be carried out in a bucket by the time that finishes.

He has such lovely eyes...I believe that those we love as you do your son...are aware of our love and somehow help us. What I do at certain times is to get a big A4 photo of Don out and putting it smack bang in the middle of the coffee table so people have to see him...I want to talk about him...tell stories...

I am so sorry...don't know what else to say. Don's death was hard enough and I pray I am never called upon to deal with the death of my children...It is the fear of every good mother.